I know I said that today’s post would be on art and vacation.
As I sit here at 9:07 AM, still in my time-chewn slippers and faded cobalt blue bathrobe, a view of high overcast and the tops of tall trees from the living room window, it occurs to me that there might be other things I could address, like shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings. (Apologies to Lewis Carroll.)
Today will be a painting day. I can feel it in my slowly pulverizing bones. Add an oversized cafe au lait, a little background music–maybe Mark Knopfler’s Kill to Get Crimson or the soundtrack from Once–and the stage, as they say, will be set.
But first the matter of actually facing the day. Although my morning procrastination may represent a general vacation-week laziness, it has also been known to portend depression, aka the dark dog. Stir in a dollop of typical San Joaquin Valley winter weather, and voila! Though I don’t feel particularly depressed or doggish. So time to reheat that coffee, hit the shower, robe (as opposed to dis-), and run the morning’s errands while it’s still morning. And THEN . . . the artses!